Blue Blood

……….somewhere between heaven and earth is me………………

Alone is not lonely. I am a gathering of my past and my future and there is never anything else but the moment. I am an evolving creature. The imprint I left one second ago will not be the same as the next.

The tides of creation draw on my juices. Equilibrium elusive in the sway of universe. A fragment of me may die in that second, floating away, a discarded tissue memory. Maybe the wisp was a welcome mourning finished; perhaps a dream discarded. A breath from Pandora could kiss my eyes, planting pollen specks of hope, refugees from a squall of evil. But I am changed, never the person I was. Only in one second at a time am I real.

The blue of an Australian heaven colours my earth. Each step in the sand, each instant opens me to me. I can trace all the rivers flowing in and out of me. I can see the imprint of me. I am slow, with no hungers, careful in my trust of the moment.

The lightness of the blue curls inside me, from above and below, a healing softness. I stop moving, loath to let that second go, clinging to this me. But the sky deepens, dictating my response. I can’t hold back the wave. My fluids gently dance in rhythm. My step makes a new shape in the sand with unfathomable blue shadows pushing me forward.

The sun swells in revolution against its coming death, a dominating super hero, dazzling in reds, yellows and deep magenta, violently sucking in earth’s colours. Too soon the spasm calms and cosmos blues fold over the tumult as the arms of a powerful god calming its troubled child. Stable, strong, inevitable.

My spirit has transitioned from calm to triumph to strength. Minutes apart. How can you ever judge me when the one I was has long gone?

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This writing is of extraordinary depth and poetic at the same time. It is by far the best I’ve read so far here at RB.

My 10 cents: The You, the ever-changing you, above and beyond that fluidity of life, it still has a skeleton of being, the essence that makes you congruent with your selves, the many selves you embrace, become and discard continually. In that every moment, you are the observer and the observed. As soon as you try to catch yoursef as the observer, you become the observed. Then, who are you Netta? Who you really are? And who do you believe you are? If you would have an answer you would not be you. Or perhaps you do have the answer, since you are never You.

And then, who wants to judge you Netta, who can take up that burden of a task? And for what purpose? - 10 cents over - Have a wonderful, ever changing year that satisfies the miracle of You … somewhere between heaven and earth.